A Most Amazing Girl
by Dan Sickles
Summary: Andy's tender heart gets her in big trouble - and Miranda makes a surprising decision about her future. Politics, drama, and just a hint of heartwarming romance.


A MOST AMAZING GIRL

_Miranda has a change of heart regarding Andy's future. I do not own these delightful characters. Please comment nicely! _

"Please, Miranda." The dark-eyed girl's soft voice barely rose above the deep hum of the jet engines. The first-class cabin was dark and quiet, and most of the other passengers were already asleep in their comfortable reclining seats.

"Absolutely not, Andrea. One sleepless night is enough, don't you think?" The silver-haired woman sipped her coffee, her erect bearing and gleaming gray eyes a striking contrast to her youthful companion's slumped and sagging shoulders.

"Yes, Miranda." Andy wasn't just tired. She was exhausted, so worn out and jet-lagged that she could hardly keep her eyes open. Yet a part of her knew deep down that her employer wasn't really talking about her.

Andy Sachs had been flying to L.A. to pick up some new things by Monique, things Miranda wanted. Just by chance her flight had been diverted to SFO. That wasn't her fault, was it? But when she went down to Occupy Oakland to check out the protests, she was behaving recklessly. And when the police turned nasty and started arresting _everyone_, they dragged Miranda's name right off the masthead of Runway, where it belonged, and onto the front page instead.

"We could spin this, Miranda. We could do a whole piece on the demonstrations!" Andy was still flying high on adrenaline when Miranda bailed her out of jail. There was a huge crowd waiting for them outside the building, complete with swarms of paparazzi snapping pictures.

"Not another word, Andrea." Miranda didn't want to hear about Andy's arrest, or the dozens of pictures she'd taken before the cops clapped those lovely silver bracelets on her slender wrists. The icy older woman had a limousine waiting, long and black with tinted windows. And she kept a protective Chanel-clad arm wrapped tightly around Andy's slender jeans-clad waist until they were both safe inside.

It wasn't until the return flight to New York was off the ground that Andy started to realize how tired she was. All at once she just felt finished, pooped. Still, she couldn't help pitching her idea for a street demonstration piece. They had the pictures. Couldn't they post them on line? Couldn't Runway take a stand? Didn't Miranda have enough power and influence to turn a tiny minus into a huge plus?

But each time she spoke up Miranda gave her _that __look_ – the look Andy feared but secretly craved. It was the look that told her Miranda had been up all night worrying about her, even if she didn't look half as tired as Andy felt. It was the look that made the exhausted girl clam up at last and let the cheerful, attentive flight attendants serve them a lavish in-flight meal.

Had they been eating dinner? Or was it really a late lunch? Andy was too tired to keep it straight. Her head kept sinking lower and lower. Her mind kept flashing images of her sleepless night in that Oakland jail. Funny how it had felt so festive, almost like a celebration. Everyone was singing Beatles songs . . . Give Peace A Chance . . . Hey Jude . . . it was so exciting to be a part of history! Her heavy eyes drooped even lower, and as she went under Andy wondered if her pictures were really any good. She was a print journalist, not a photographer. At least she _had_ been a print journalist, before joining Runway and meeting the brilliant Miranda Priestly. Or was it the impossible Miranda Priestly? Brilliant . . . impossible . . . fascinating . . .

Miranda Priestly watched with amusement as the slim, dark-haired girl sank deeper into the cool leather cushions, out cold at last. It was a relief not to hear that breathless, eager voice, not to see those huge brown eyes flashing with excitement. Because deep down, Miranda wasn't really angry at her assistant for getting into trouble.

She was terrified.

Silently, the older woman slipped her manicured hand into Andrea's Prada bag, retrieving the cell phone that held those damned pictures. They were good . . . too good. Andy's heart was pure, but she had sharp eyes and she saw things other people missed. The American flag on that homeless man's jacket. The tears running down the old man's face.

Unlike her sleeping companion, Miranda really didn't give a damn about the ninety-nine percent. She cared about the one percent instead. And it seemed to her that Andy, with her guts and her tender heart and her surprisingly keen vision, might just be one of the one percent herself.

So now Miranda had a choice to make.

She could erase the pictures while Andrea slept, and then order the silly girl to forget the whole thing. Or she could put Runway right into the center of things by taking a stand. That would make Irv very unhappy. But it would keep Andrea close to her. And Miranda wanted that very badly.

Except there was one problem. Runway was more important than what she wanted. And so Miranda put the exhausted girl's cell back in her bag, and took out her own device instead. She sent a text to a very good friend at a top news outlet, offering to introduce her to a most amazing girl. Miranda knew she was demanding, and often cruel, but she was never selfish.

And there were other ways to keep Andrea close.


End file.
